Breathing Firewhiskey
by revolution rae
Summary: You call us evil because we are ambitious. You say we will burn in hell because we aren't afraid to tell you what we think. We are what you will never understand; we are Slytherins. Drabbles and poems about the ones you never thought to love.
1. Dream

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**Disclaimer: JKR wrote the books. **

A/N: This is also a chapter in my other series of drabbles/short stories, In Passing. It just fits better here.

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**Pansy, Seventh Year**

I shut the door as quietly as possible, holding my breath, wincing as the hinges creak softly. To my relief, none of the other girls awaken. I lock the door securely (hopefully, no one will Alohomora it in a fit of anger) and breathe again gratefully. It's nearly three in the morning and I'm the only one awake in the castle as far as I know.

I walk slowly to the mirror in the little lavatory, loathe to see my face, yet morbidly curious. What marks has he left this time? And are they somewhere noticeable? Not that it would matter. Slytherins don't ask for help. Even when their best friends break them beyond repair. Even if I weren't a Slytherin, I'd still be a Parkinson. And Parkinsons hate help even more than the average Slytherin.

I close my eyes as I reach the mirror and grip the sink for support - just in case. Then, steeling myself, I open my eyes and stare straight into the looking glass, my jaw set.

It's okay. No bruises on my neck or face. I breathe out through pursed lips, reassured. No one will know. I am safe. Vincent is safe.

Now for the harder part. The scarier part. I pull my long-sleeved green shirt over my head, leaving me clad in a silvery tank top and long black pants. I used to wear nightgowns to bed. In fourth year, Vincent started getting angrier than he once was, and jealous. That was the year I started wearing less revealing clothes, for safety's sake.

Looking at myself, I am glad for the heavy Hogwarts uniform that hides me during the day. I can see his handprints on my upper arms, from when he shook me this morning. I can still feel the way my teeth rattled, the way my bones jarred, the way my neck snapped back. In the middle of my forearms there are more handprints. He grabbed me and squeezed, hard, when he found me skipping Herbology. I left him alone with Gregory and Daphne, he said, and that was mean. That was unfair of me. I deserved what I got.

There are other bruises running along my skin as well, ones I forgot about. I don't usually remember why he gives them to me, not for very long. Mottled patterns of purple, green, yellow, and red streak my arms. The colors swirl amongst each other, and I am detached enough from myself that I can see the artistic beauty of them. I spend a moment admiring the abstract pictures, but eventually I drag my gaze away from the discolorations and lift my shirt up halfway to examine the rest of my torso. Unsurprisingly, there is a large patch of black and blue in the middle of my stomach. He punched me, three times in a row. Fast, hard punches. I think I told him to go to hell yesterday. Yes, that's probably what happened. Sometimes he laughs at my sarcasm and venom; other times, he... doesn't.

I turn to look at my back. There is a burn mark on my spine and a long, thick, raised scar on the left side of the small of my back. The burn is from last week, in Charms, when I partnered with Daphne Greengrass, leaving him with Gregory. Draco, obviously, isn't at Hogwarts this year, which is a shame. He was the one who could almost control Vincent. The two usually would partner in our classes, and it would be me and Daphne. Gregory was often left with Edwin or even someone from a different House.

I tear my eyes away from the mirror and then force my feet to take me to the exit as I put on my shirt. But somehow I can't make myself go into the dormitory yet. Instead, I sink to the floor, my back against the door. I wrap my arms around my legs and rest my forehead on my knees. My thoughts turn quickly to Vincent, and I allow myself a few minutes to brood. Even though I hate how it feels, I know why he does this to me. It's for the same reason I used to spend the night with Draco, the same reason Daphne drowns herself in firewhiskey, the same reason Gregory stopped writing to his parents. The four of us, we're the only ones left in this place who can't hate the Carrows or, at the very least, get angry at the Gryffindors who arouse their wrath. We're the only ones who can't love each other or anyone else. We can't feel _anything_. We are the cold, numb, empty shells who walk the school looking for fire. We are the jaded liars who settle for cheap imitations of anger and joy, waiting for something to bring us to life.

Someone knocks on the door, startling me badly. My heart pounds fiercely for an instant as I get to my feet and open the door. Daphne is there, her hand raised to knock again. She lowers it and, without a word, we pass each other. The door clicks shut behind her and I stand still for a brief moment before returning to my bed. Maybe tonight I'll dream.


	2. Sisters

**Disclaimer: JKR wrote the books. I'm just having fun.

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Daphne, Seventh Year

"Look at me, Astoria," I said coldly, sounding exactly like our mother. My sister's fists were clenched and her shoulders were tight. She didn't look up. Her shirt was improperly buttoned - a result of a very rushed job of dressing - and her skirt wasn't straight. My lip curled. I crossed the Common Room with long strides and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look me in the eye.

Her bright green eyes were hard, and her blonde curls were messily pulled back. There were tearstains on her flushed cheeks, but she showed no signs of listening to me. She jerked her face away from my hand and spoke. "Well, Daph?" she demaded, sounding on the edge of hysteria. "Are you happy now? You've humiliated me yet again! At least this time you're sober!" She gave a humorless laugh.

"You're raving like an idiot," I informed her, my voice cool and calm. "I've done nothing whatsoever to embarrass you."

She laughed again. "Oh, of course not! You've just walked in on me snogging my boyfriend - the only one in this bloody place who cares about me at all - and hexed him! That's perfectly fine!" She was waving her hands in the air angrily.

I sneered at her. "Blaise doesn't care about you one bit. If you'd bothered to look at him you'd see that." Astoria took a step back as though I had slapped her.

"You don't know what you're talking about!" she shouted. I sighed, suddenly old and tired, certain Blaise was listening from the top of the boys' stairs.

"I've known him since we were eleven. I know him better than you seem to think. Blaise doesn't care about the girls he dates. Ever."

She shook her head, in denial. "You're jealous that he doesn't fancy you. You want to mess it up for me."

I gave a bark of laughter. "We tried that in fourth year, and trust me, there was nothing. Literally. He doesn't feel _anything_, Astoria. Nothing."

Her shoulders slumped, and for an instant I was sure I'd gotten through to her. Then she folded her arms stubbornly. "Yes, he does. He feels love. For me." She turned and went to her dorm. I rubbed my temples and pulled a bottle of firewhiskey from my bag, exhausted. Walking in on my half-dressed fifteen-year-old sister snogging Blaise Zabini had _not_ been a welcome sight. And in the _Common Room_, for Merlin's sake. Had she no dignity? She had no idea what she was doing, that was the problem. If it had been me getting hurt... well, I couldn't care less if someone was using _me_; my sister was a different story altogether.

I sat down in an armchair and took a swig of the alcohol, relishing the initial burn and smoky aftertaste, turning the bottle in my hands, looking at the slogan. _The answer to all your problems!_ I could just imagine a perky blonde witch reading the words for an advertisement. Disgusting. And a complete lie. Drinking had yet to answer any of my problems. At least it made me forget things, though. Killed my liver, too, if what the Healers had told my father was true. Messed with my brain cells. Did things to me no spells could fix. And at the rate I was going through bottles, I'd be dead by the time I was twenty.

Oh well. Life was overrated anyway.


	3. Meaningless

**Disclaimer: JKR has the rights, as always.

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Pansy, Seventh Year

I shagged Blaise last night.

I didn't mean to. It just sort of happened. It was four in the morning, I was sitting in an armchair staring into the dying fire, and he came downstairs. He was wearing nothing but pajama bottoms - silver and green plaid, in case anyone cares - and he does have the nicest body. Dark. Smooth. Built, but not _too_ built. I've always thought of him as a mixture of sexy, beautiful, and masculine. If that makes sense. He has these long slanted eyes that Astoria assures me are quite attractive. Daphne is lucky to have a sister who can still feel.

Anyway, I was staring into the fire, wondering if Draco was alive, and Blaise came downstairs and then walked over to me. He just stood there looking at me for a long moment. Something weird passed between us. I don't know how to describe it. A kind of understanding, I guess. I realized that he had joined the ranks of Those Who Don't Give A Shit. He realized that I knew. I stood up, we moved together, and we spent the next two hours lying on the couch together. You know how it goes, I'm sure. It might happen again. It might not. Either way, things are coming to an end soon enough, and things that used to be unacceptable aren't anymore. So when the "first" early risers came downstairs, me and Blaise just stood up, parted, and that was it.

And I still don't care.


	4. Forgetful

**Vincent, Sixth Year**

I took one look at her and snapped. She was crouching on the ground, her head in her hands, as though she were going through something difficult. Yeah. Right. Like she knew what pain us. I'd show her.

I stepped towards her and grabbed her upper arm. I jerked her to her feet and then shoved her away from me. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" I asked her furiously, quietly. It was the middle of the night. She needed to be sleeping. She looked at me, her eyes blank and dead, infuriating me further.

I grabbed shoulders and shook, then slammed her against the wall of the Common Room. "You have no idea what I go through," I hissed at her. "But you act like you're the only one in here who had a hard life. I'm bloody sick of you being like this. Just quit acting so... so... dead." I threw her to the ground and whipped out my wand, ready to make her pay for letting me be alone.

And then I realized I couldn't remember her name. My best friend, the girl I'd known since I was eight, and I couldn't remember her name.

My hands shook and I collapsed. And instead of running away from the monster, she came closer and knelt by me, gripping my face between her hands. We were silent.

There was nothing to say.


	5. Thirteen

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**Disclaimer: The brilliant JKR has all the rights to what you recognize.**

****A/N: Blaise Zabini has recently begun to fascinate me. I have several more drabbles on him to upload. (:hehe.

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**Blaise, Third Year**

I gaze at the thirteen candles, captivated. The bright orange flames twist and flicker, holding my eyes, fascinating me. They seem almost more magical than the fireworks she sent off earlier, or the gifts she gave me. The fire almost makes my eyes hurt, the way it burns against the dark sky. I could stay here all day, just staring at the doomed tongues of color, except I am not alone, and my mother is ever mindful of company. She clears her throat and chuckles.

"Hurry and make your wish, love, we don't have all day," she chides. Only I can hear the warning behind her gentle words and voice. She is trying to impress another conquest, this one at least in his seventies, and she can't do that if I act so simple. So I close my eyes briefly and then murder the beautiful, dancing flames. The loss almost makes me want to cry. But I would never do that; I am not that foolish. I am thirteen now. I can't act like a child any longer.

"Oh, good job!" my mother trills, her voice so fake I don't understand how the guests - who she chose, of course - can miss it. Maybe they're so used to seeing her be beautiful and happy, they've forgotten how to look deeper. Am I like that too? Have I become so used to seeing her as shallow and manipulative that I don't remember how to see her true self?

Pushing down the thought, I paste a smile on my face, because it is my birthday and I can't let anyone down. It's a good thing they don't know what I wished for, because that would be the biggest disappointment of them all, at least for my mother, whose whole life revolves around our exterior appearances.

Because I wished to be as ugly outside as I am inside.


	6. Everyone But You

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**Disclaimer: The brilliant JKR has all the rights to what you recognize.**

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**Vincent, Seventh Year**

I watch them scornfully, then sip my "pumpkin juice." She thinks it isn't obvious that she shagged him, the whore. She's _mine_. Not anyone else's. But of course nobody can know that, because they wouldn't understand what we are. They'd call me an evil bastard for punishing her. They'd be wrong, though. We have an understanding, Pansy and I. She knows I don't want to do what I do, I just have to. She's the only one in this whole bloody world I need. Sure, Gregory used to be a good friend, but I grew up and he didn't. And Daphne's not bad, but she would never put up with what Pansy does. And then, of course, there's Blaise. The asshole who shagged Pansy and honestly thinks I don't know.

Why should I? He doesn't know what Pansy does. He doesn't know that I can read her face like an open book. She would never dare to tell him, no matter what she showed him on her body. She would have told him she fell, or that she ran into the wall, or that she got in trouble with her dad in Hogsmeade. Those are the easy lies. It's not like he would have minded anyway. Blaise just likes the feeling of having a body beneath him for awhile. Usually he sticks to girls who are wild, the ones who will let him feed off their energy for a few days or weeks or months. But for Pansy, he makes an exception. He always has.

Everyone does. I do it, too. I need her. Blaise wants her. Daphne shares whiskey with her and no one else. Draco used to want her, too, before he moved on to "bigger and better things." Even the teachers seem to like her.

Everyone needs Pansy. Everyone except Pansy herself.


	7. Secret

**Disclaimer: I'm still not JKR.**

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**Blaise, Seventh Year**

She thinks I don't love her. And maybe I don't. I can't really tell, I don't actually know what love is. But when I'm with her, when we're together, I feel a little bit more alive than I am. But I'm Blaise Zabini, the boy with a thousand lovers. And she's got Vincent to worry about. He would never forgive either of us if I told her I love her. Come to think of it, she probably wouldn't, either. She's afraid to love. I think we all are.


	8. Alcoholic

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Disclaimer: NOT MINE.

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Daphne, Seventh Year

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-Slytherin-

got to be

_Proud_

there's no such thing as a

pathetic pureblood.

XXX

drink up, Daph, d r i n k your firewhiskey.

so you can feel something

(it burns so bad, going down your throat) cause

_you're not even ice anymore_

XXX

you want to care about this,

about how

lonely you think are.

but lately you just...

can't

make yourself feel it

XXX

you just want to die soon

but only if Astoria doesn't

cause Astoria, she's _alive_

and you know (even though nothing else matters)

she doesn't deserve to be dead.

XXX

so drink your damn firewhiskey

relish the momentary scream of your body as

it blisters its way through you

XXX

in class,

waiting to get caught,

but no one _dares_

reprimand

one of those pureblooded _f/r/e/a/k/s_,

a Death Eater's daughter,

a Slytherin.


	9. Revenge

**Disclaimer: JKR has all the rights. I just have my own ideas about what made the characters who they are. ;]**

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Blaise, Childhood

I was six when I began to hate Muggles. My mother had brought home her newest man. He was at least seventy, very tall, very thin, and very wrinkled. He was bald, I remember that. He was the first Muggle I'd ever met. One of her 'friends' had set them up together. This was the friend who later sold a story to _Witch Weekly _saying my mother was abusive, had the Muggle disease AIDS, and was a Death Eater. Yeah. Some friend.

Anyway, it was the first time we met. I don't even remember his name. He was her third husband-to-be. I was still angry and upset that the second one had died. This was before I learned to not care about them. So anyway, this asshole crouched down in front of me and tried to tell me that we were going to be friends. Remember, I wasn't a happy kid. I pushed him and tried to leave.

No such luck.

He grabbed me by my upper arms and stood up straight so I was dangling in the air facing him. He squeezed my arms really tight, like he was trying to crush them, and then he slammed me against the wall. My mother ran to his side and held up her hands and told him to calm down. He didn't listen. He slammed me into the wall a second time, then a third time. His face was just empty, scary. Then he just dropped me to the ground and turned to her and kissed her. I remember what her eyes looked like at that moment - old, scared, and tired. Her whole face just looked used-up. But she smiled at him - that million-Galleon smile - and slunk down the hallway with her tail between her legs, beckoning him to follow. He started to follow her, then stopped and looked at me. His face changed, and he looked mean.

"Don't mess with someone who's better than you," he said, and then he did go back to where my mother waited for him. I laid there curled up on the ground, sobbing and sniveling and in agony. And all I could think was that she chose him over me. Her money was more important than her son. And I've never forgiven her.


	10. Astoria

**Disclaimer: I don't own Draco or Astoria or Celestina Warbeck or Daphne or Gregory. Or Slytherin. ... yeah, I don't own anything.**

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Gregory, Seventh Year

He wasn't a very smart kind of guy, and he knew it. He never bothered trying to change - he didn't need to. He was _Gregory Goyle_. He was a pureblood, and later on, a Slytherin. And even later, a Death Eater. He didn't exactly understand why being these things mattered so much, but he knew they did. He knew being them made you better, so he was glad. For years that was all he wanted.

And then one day he noticed her. Astoria Greengrass. Daphne's sister. He'd met her plenty of times, he just never noticed her. And then he did.

She was so... _alive. _Even though she was a Slytherin. She still cared, he could tell by the way she swung her blonde hair over her shoulder, by the way she belted out old Celestina Warbeck songs in the Common Room until people threw pillows at her to shut her up. And then she would scribble words on parchment and save them for later. Once he asked her what the words were. She smiled at him and said, "they're someone's dreams." He didn't understand what she meant, but he didn't ask again. It was enough to know that somebody - anybody - could still be happy.

He still didn't really _care_ about her, per se. His heart didn't beat faster when she was near; he didn't feel about her the way he had about Pansy in fifth year. He didn't decide that being alive was more important than being a pureblood. It wasn't. There was only one true change Astoria Greengrass brought about in Gregory Goyle.

There was finally someone in the world he wanted to protect.


	11. Closed Eyes

**Disclaimer: STILL NOT MINE.**

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**Blaise, Fifth Year Summer**

I watch them through the open door. At fifteen, I am not a virgin, but that doesn't mean I want to see this - my beautiful mother fucking her ugly, fat, ancient, rich lover. And yet, I can't tear my eyes away from the disgusting sight. I realized a long time ago that she uses sex to get them to marry her, but knowing and witnessing are two completely different things.

I finally, finally manage to turn and walk away. I go to the front door of our current mansion and slam it as loudly as possible, hoping she'll hear it and maybe feel a little ashamed. I sit on the steps of the front porch, my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands, and wonder if I can just sleep until September 1st.

I don't have to wait long. A mere five minutes later, she comes outside and stands in front of me, wearing nothing but a thin, lacy, very expensive-looking bathrobe. She looks pissed. "What is your problem?" she hisses angrily. "I am _trying_ to get Dogface to propose soon! How can I do that if you're spending all your time interrupting me?" This one's name is Darius, I remember now. She always has nicknames for them. I sometimes wonder what her nickname for _me _is.

She watches me for a minute or so before her expression softens the way it always does. She may be a slut, she may be evil, she may hate me, but she really does love me, too. "Look, Blaise, I'm doing this for us. You know that. He might be the last one, if he's rich enough to support us for good." I look up into her eyes. They are nothing like mine. She doesn't look like me at all. Her hair is dark brown, not black. Her eyes are green and aren't slanted, her nose is more pointed, her lips are fuller, and she isn't as dark as I am. What's the phrase she uses? Café-au-lait? Something like that.

Knowing what she needs, I smile and nod, convincing her that she is doing the right thing, that she can go inside and shag him and marry him and poison him. She looks relieved and does what I knew from the start she would - leaves. She always leaves.


	12. Bad Feeling

**Disclaimer: The characters and plot belong to JKR. I just like my Slytherins:D**

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**All, Sixth Year**

"I think something's going to happen soon."

"Shut up, Pansy."

"I'm serious, guys. I think something's coming."

"You've been listening to Trelawney for too long."

"Come on, Daphne, I thought _you'd_ know what I meant."

"Why would you think that? I think Divination's stupid."

"Don't we all?"

"Shut _up_, you guys. I'm not _talking_ about Divination."

"Where's Draco?"

"Does it matter, Vincent?"

"Yeah, it does matter, _Blaise_. He might be able to convince Pansy to stop."

"I'm not being stupid. I'm not talking about Divination, I told you that. I'm talking about _Draco_. Haven't you noticed how weird he is this year?"

"...Well, I guess."

"See, I knew you'd know, Daphne. He's all, scared or something. And now he's in bed? Before nine?"

"Oh, is _that_ where he is?"

"Let's go get him."

"Okay."

"Guys! No! Blaise! Vincent! Gregory! I'm serious! ... Well, there they go."

"You shouldn't have said where he was."

"Well, Daphne, I didn't think, okay? I'm really actually nervous that he's going to do something he'll regret."

"There's nothing we can do about it."

"I know. I'm going to bed. Night, Daph."

"Night, Pansy."


	13. Annalise

**Disclaimer: It belongs to JKR.**

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**Gregory, 4th Year**

She strokes his hair gently, and he allows a smile to soften his heavy, blunt features. "Has anyone ever told you how lovely your smile is?" she asks softly. He looks down and shakes his head, and she sighs. "Well, they should have. I've never _seen_ a better smile." Gregory looks into her eyes, then leans forward to kiss her as they revolve slowly on the dance floor. She happily returns the action. After a moment, they break apart.

"I'm glad you said yes," he says, his voice low and shy. "I didn't think you would."

The petite brunette grins. "Of course I said yes. I was hoping you would ask me."

He looks shocked, excited. "Really? I never thought that. I always thought you fancied Draco."

She looks away briefly, then back at his eyes. "No, no." He doesn't pick up on the hesitancy in her answer.

"Brilliant, you're the first girl who's liked me more than him," he admits. She shows her teeth in her bright smile again.

Then, Draco shows up, interrupting the dance and placing a hand on each of their shoulders. His eyes are glazed and he smells like alcohol, Gregory notices. It's a scent he could recognize in his sleep. "Hey, Goyle," the slight boy says. Then he turns a smoldering look on the girl. "_Hey_."

She blushes, and Gregory suddenly understands. "Oh," he utters, and his usual dull, vaguely angry look returns. "Oh. I'm getting something to drink. Do you guys want anything?"

"No, Goyle," Draco replies, confident and condescending.

"No thanks, Gregory," the girl also says, breathless. "See you in a minute."

Gregory leaves to get punch. He returns less than five minutes later to find Draco and his date slow-dancing and kissing. His heart hardens against both of them, and he doesn't even feel any pain. He spends the rest of the night talking to Daphne, Pansy, Vincent, and Blaise. He doesn't mention the fiasco.

The next morning, when Draco has finally returned from his night, Gregory turns to his 'best mate.' "Malfoy, do you even know her name?" he asks slowly. Draco laughs bitterly.

"Of course not, why would I? She was just a night, just a girl. Now shut it, I've got a hangover."

"It's Annalise," Gregory mutters, "and she wasn't just a night for _me_."

Draco looks up at Gregory, and he almost seems remorseful, but he says nothing.

They never speak of it again.


	14. Holiday? I Don't Think So

**Disclaimer: It belongs to JKR.**

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and what kind of holiday is

_c h r i s t m a s ?_

at least when you're like us.

**lonely**&&**broken**&&**stubborn**.

XxX

we all go home for c h r i s t m a s.

even draco. even me.

even though there's nothing there, no one home.

just me and astoria.

XxX

when we were younger we would _decorate_. beautiful.

live fairies glittering all around the house,

charmed orbs that changed color,

even paper chains (even though they were _Muggle decorations__._)

XxX

but we got older and harsher and now we don't decorate.

**mum**&**dad** go away to parties

me and astoria are silent.

the _whole house_ is silent.

even the **house elves** don't talk to each other during holidays,

cause they're scared like us.

XxX

so i stay in my room and **drink up**

and who knows what astoria does?

XxX

it's really not fair, when you think about it,

the way people say _isn't ch r i s t m a s just lovely?_

when it isn't, really. at least,

not when you're

**stubborn**&&**broken**&&**lonely.**


	15. Fairytales

**Disclaimer: **JKR has the rights.

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**Daphne, Seventh Year**

I don't believe in love.

Don't act so surprised. It's a fairy tale. Just like Prince Bloody Charming and the fairy bloody godmother. It's just a lie. Astoria used to be obsessed with Muggle fairy tales. I'd read them to her at night when our parents were out. Then I got older and I stopped. I grew up. It hurt too much to read them. She never grew up. She still reads them and writes about them. It would be funny, if I could remember how to laugh.

Merlin, I sound pathetic. _If only I could remember how to laugh_, and _I don't believe in love_, _oh poor little me_, etc.

But I'm being serious. Love doesn't exist. People talk about it so they can pretend they're happy with their ugly little marriages and social obligations and everything.

Me, I believe in lust. I believe in hatred. I believe in beauty and passion and life and disease and death and alcohol and sex and fights and sisters.

I believe in forgetting about pain so I can dance for an hour or two.

I believe in finding a beautiful boy and sleeping with him so I can look in the mirror and see something somebody likes.

I believe in pushing down any hints of emotion, erasing them, drowning them with firewhiskey and cigarettes.

And I know. This is why the wrong boys ask me out, the wrong boys look at me and whistle and touch my arm and laugh. The wrong boys dream about me. But it's okay. I don't mind. Cause I don't dream about anything anymore. So as long as someone is dreaming for me, it doesn't matter who it is.

But the thing is, there are days when I wish the right boys would look me in the eye and smile deep and true and real. Days when I want those boys to think about me. To teach me. To convince me that maybe love could exist. Not that I wish it does. I just know they do. And sometimes I want to be one of them. Some days I want to be Daphne, not _Daphne_.

But whatever. _That's not going to happen_.

So me, I believe in tearstains and money and Dark Marks and liars. I believe in anger and war and betrayal and music and shame and hormones.

And I don't, _don't_ believe in love.


	16. Protection

**Disclaimer: **it's still JKR's, just like every other time i post a story.

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**Daphne and Blaise, Sixth Year**

"Look, Blaise, I'm just saying, you better stay the hell away from her," I said angrily, shoving him by the shoulders. "She's my sister, and she's a good kid. She doesn't deserve you messing with her. _She_ still feels things, she gets hurt easily." He smirked, and frustration seeped through me. I pulled my wand and pointed it at his throat. The smirk disappeared, and I was satisfied.

"I'm not going to hurt her, Daphne," he said slowly, calmingly. His eyes kept flickering to the wand that was pressing against his windpipe.

"Yeah, like I believe that," I spat. "You hurt everyone you get with."

"Oh really?" he asked, the smirk back. "Did I hurt you in fourth year?"

"Ahhh!" I shoved him against the wall again, my anger filling me, making me hot everywhere. All I wanted was to finish this and get some goddamn firewhiskey. "Shut the hell _up_, Blaise. You know I don't give a shit about that. This is about Astoria, okay?"

Then he nodded. "I'm not going to hurt her. She knows everything, okay? She knows I don't love her. She knows I'm not going to marry her. She knows I just want someone to keep me here. Okay? Are you happy?"

I shook my head, lowering my wand and sighing. "That's not what she thinks. She thinks she's _changing_ you."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking irritated. "Well, that's not _my_ fault. I told her from the start that this kind of thing is nothing new for me. I _told_ her I'm not going to fall in love with her. Why do they always _do_ that? It's like they _want_ to get hurt!"

I shrugged. "Astoria's always been like that. She always wants everyone else to care like she does." We turned and started the walk to Potions, our next class. "You haven't figured that out yet? You've known her for years."

He hefted his bag further up on his shoulder. "Yeah, but I told her. Why doesn't she believe me?" He sounded genuinely angry, so I tried to smooth it over.

"Relax, Blaise. She'll get over it. She'll get over _you_. They always do."

"Yeah," he sighed. I glanced over at him, curious. He almost sounded disappointed. "Yeah. They always do."

Somehow, I got the feeling he was looking for the girl who wouldn't. But that didn't make sense. Why would he want that? He couldn't return such a sentiment. None of us could.

Right?


	17. New Year's Resolution

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, JKR is still refusing to give me the rights. So... it's not mine yet:)

**A/N:** Eh. Not too happy with how it turned out. The ending isn't what I wanted... But oh well. R&R:)

* * *

**Gregory, Seventh Year**

He stood there, his shoulders tight, the tension in the air almost visible. He stared through the doorway to the living room, watching his parents. His short, thin, dark-haired mother, Alexandria. His huge father, Greg. He thought for a moment, trying to see if there was a way to get past them, through the living room, up the stairs, and into his own bedroom. But he knew better; he'd tried to do so in the past, and it never worked.

"I saw you with her just yesterday!" Alexandria hissed angrily. Some people got loud when they were angry. Alexandria got quieter.

"She's just a bloody friend! For Merlin's sake!" Greg shouted back. He grew stormy and frightening when he was angry. "Unlike you and that bastard _Lucius_!"

Gregory glared at his parents, though he knew they wouldn't notice. He hated the way they fought. Usually, they were at least drunk before they got into it. Today, neither of them had had a drop. They just hated each other, probably almost as much as they hated him.

"You're such an arse, Gregory Goyle!" Alexandria said, her voice dripping poison. Greg shoved her. "Get your bloody hands off me!" She slapped him. He stepped back.

"What the hell, woman?" He rubbed his cheek and then started shouting insults at her. She retaliated with her own set of choice words.

Gregory clenched his fists, closed his eyes, and counted to ten. He knew if he didn't calm down, he would walk right into the living room and hit them both. He tried to remember what Daphne had told him last week, just before he went home for Christmas: _Just stay calm. It's not your problem. And if you can, get something to drink_. She was right, of course. They could hurt him much more than he could hurt them. He'd learned that the hard way.

So, he turned around and walked back into the kitchen, still listening to his parents argue. There was an unopened bottle of firewhiskey sitting on the counter, probably placed there by one of his parents for when the fight ended. One of them would leave, slamming the door; the other would get drunk and spend the night ranting to Gregory about how horrible life was.

Unless, of course, the firewhiskey was gone. He picked it up, opened it, and took a swig. It wasn't his style, to get smashed. He prefered cheap beer, a slight buzz, just enough to laugh. But tonight, he didn't want to be alert. So he sat there and chugged down the burning liquid gratefully.

"Happy New Year, Mum and Dad," he mumbled, a dull smirk on his face, and took yet another drink. "Maybe this will finally be the last one."

It was about an hour later that he heard the door slam and footsteps coming into the kitchen. He waited to see who it was. He expected his mother, since she'd stormed out last time. They tended to take it in turns, whether or not it was intentional.

Sure enough, Alexandria strode into the kitchen, still muttering under her breath. She stopped cold when she saw her son sitting there, still nursing the firewhiskey. "Gregory Goyle, what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" she snapped. "You're only sixteen, you idiot. That's _mine_, get your filthy hands off of it."

Gregory raised his head and looked at her. Then, he made a decision. "No. _You're_ the idiot, not me." And without another word, he stood up and walked out of the room, still carrying the bottle, leaving his mother sputtering in the empty room.

It was time for things to change. And for the first time in his life, Gregory was going to be the one to make it happen.


	18. Victim

_dear jkr,_

could you please send me the paperwork granting me the rights to harry potter? thanks.

_yours very truly, _

_rae_

**p.s.:** **disclaimer: **she hasn't answered yet.

**character: **daphne greengrass

**a/n:** also posted in the story _of nargles and beautiful girls._ it just also works here, since it is, after all, about daphne.

* * *

**(stop. stop. pleasestop_stop_)  
**she screamed as he pushed her down,  
as he cut her wings.  
as he broke her  
the way she didn't know  
anyone could be broken.

and he wouldn't stop.  
he wouldn't disappear,  
wouldn't listen.  
and he was so strong,  
his big hand covering her mouth,  
his other hand -  
_(ohgod, don't think about it)_

it isn't supposed to happen, is it?  
isn't that only in books?  
isn't that just a  
horror story, to keep little girls  
from talking to strangers?

but she wasn't a little girl**;;  
**she was big and strong and brave  
and she was already fourteen  
old enough to babysit astoria  
old enough to love storms.

but young still,  
naive enough to think  
he loved her  
like she loved him  
but if he loved her,  
he wouldn't have done that.  
right?  
right?

she should have been more careful  
and if she had been  
she wouldn't have these  
nightmares full of  
blood**&&**men**&&**torn_shirts_.

she would still be safe, still be  
confident  
in the world that  
she used to love,  
the life she used  
to live  
still be safe and funny

she wouldn't flinch  
when she saw the man who  
claimed to be her family.

and she wouldn't be  
dark and depressed  
she wouldn't drink alcohol.

if she had been more careful,  
she would be young and  
bright and happy  
like she used to be.

**((but i didn't know...))**


	19. Slytherins Don't Fall In Love

**Disclaimer: **it's still jkr's, it will ALWAYS be hers, so quit suing me:)

**a/n:** Yes, I know I didn't specify who the "you" is. That's intentional. I'm letting you decide who she's talking to:)

* * *

**Pansy, Fifth Year**

"What do you think dreams are made of?" I asked you softly. You looked at me for an instant, then did that funny little laugh you've got, the one where you sort of snort, but not exactly.

"What does it matter? They're not real," you replied, smiling at me. You get this look on your face when you smile like that. Like you want to laugh at the things I say, but at the same time you like it, and you want to hear more.

"I don't know... But it does," I told you. "It just does."

You sighed. "I dunno, Pansy. As far as I know, it's all random flashes of memory and knowledge."

I thought about it and felt my lips lift. "No, I don't think so. I think they're a blend of yesterdays and tomorrows and color and truth."

You sat up and stared at me, looking a little concerned. "Are you drunk, Pansy? No, seriously. Are you?"

I giggled. "Um, I did have a little bit to drink..."

"Of what? Because you're acting fairly bizarre. And how much is a little?" You folded your arms, your luscious lips pressed together as though you were holding back laughter.

"Hm, I'd say about half a bottle... of vodka..." I burst into loud laughter. That was it for you - you started rolling around, almost hysterical with the gasps and chuckles pouring from your throat.

"Goddamn, Pansy," you finally managed to say. "No wonder you're being like this."

While you were speaking, I couldn't help but watch your mouth. You have the most beautiful lips, you know. And straight white teeth. So it's really not my fault that I leaned over and kissed you.

And besides, you kissed me back, too. So it's both our fault. And it was only one time, and it'll stay between us, I'm sure. It was just a drunken mistake. And the fact that I haven't been able to look you in the eye properly since is just because we haven't had any closure, really. I promise.

Because Slytherins don't fall in love.


	20. Player

**disclaimaaa: ain't mine, homes.**

**characters: astoria & blaise**

**year: blaise - 4; astoria - 1**

* * *

"So, what do you think of Hogwarts so far?" Blaise asks, smirking at me. I grin at him, my face tingling. A fourth year - and a very _attractive_ one, at that - is talking to me, a first year.

"Um, it's kind of..." I trail off, unsure of how to respond. And a little nervous, anyway.

He smiles again, his slanted eyes glowing. "It's not usually this insane," he assures me. "You just came in at a bad year."

"Oh, but I love it!" I cried, not wanting him to misunderstand. "It's so... Well, I'm pureblood obviously, so it's not like I've never seen magic before," I explain hurriedly. "But this is _real_ magic. All these people coming together and competing and smiling and laughing and -" I break off. "Um, never mind." I feel myself blush. He laughs. He looks a little interested.

"Well, I'm glad you like it," he tells me. "Well, good night, Astoria. You ought to get some sleep too."

I laugh. "I don't sleep much. It's... overrated," I inform him. "Good night."

"Night, love." And he walks away, seemingly unaware of how crazy he's making me.

_He called me love._


	21. A Stupid Man

disclaimer: still don't own it, loves.

characters: daphne&astoria

year: post-Hogwarts

* * *

"Astoria, I need to tell you something," I said slowly, nervous about what I had to say. My sister glanced at me briefly, then looked back at the notebook she was doodling in.

"Okay, go ahead," she replied, sounding bored. I chewed the inside of my lip and shifted my weight.

"Um, it's..." I trailed off and took a deep breath. God, I wished I could have a sip of firewhiskey at that moment. But I was six weeks sober, and I wasn't aiming to mess that up.

"Well?" This time Astoria just kept looking straight at me, making it that much harder. She was curled up in an armchair by the fireplace, and I was sitting stiffly on the loveseat. We were in my cozy (read "cramped and filthy") flat. I'd refused to accept any help from my parents and hadn't spoken to them for two years, mostly because they kept trying to force me to marry into the Dolohov family. When their only available son was in his late forties. Yeah.

"It's about me and... Well, I have a new boyfriend," I said, beating around the bush. Astoria gave me a look.

"If that's all this was about, you'd be glowing with excitement," she said. "Come on, what's so bad? Is he part of the League of Purebloods? An ex-Gryffindor? Let's see, perhaps you've fallen for Gregorio Dolohov after all and don't want to tell Mum and Dad?"

"No need to be rude," I said, annoyed. "I'm trying to tell you something here."

"No one's stopping you." She dropped her gaze back to her notebook and sighed loudly.

"Fine. It's - I'm dating Blaise, okay?" There. "We started going out a couple of weeks ago." I bit my lip and watched for her reaction. She gave very little sign of emotion; her pencil stopped moving and she shut her eyes, but said nothing. After the silence stretched out for a couple of minutes, I spoke. "Astoria?"

"I cannot fucking believe you," she said coldly, then stood and walked out. I followed her, but she'd already Apparated by the time I got out of the flat.

"Goddammit," I muttered, and went back inside. I then Apparated to the village she lived in and walked to the house she shared with her boyfriend, Thomas Rishel. I pounded on the door. Thomas opened it, making a face when he saw me - we didn't get along.

"Hi, Daphne. Astoria's not home," he said.

I rubbed a hand over my face. "When she gets here, please tell her I'm sorry, and I'll explain more when she wants to see me again."

He looked suspicious, but consented. "Yeah, alright."

"That's all, then," I said tiredly. "Good night, Thomas."

"Good night, Daphne," he responded as I left.

Once home, I sank down on the floor by the fire, feeling tears well up behind my eyes and a burn in my throat. "It's not fair," I whispered to myself. "I love my sister, she's the only one who's been there from the beginning. But I don't know if I can make it without Blaise. It's just not fair." I began to cry for the first time in - well, I wasn't sure how long it had been, but somewhere along the lines of three years.

"Well in that case, I guess I can forgive you," came a resigned voice. I jumped to feet and turned around, drawing my wand out of habit.

"Jesus Christ, Astoria," I said, replacing my wand when I saw her. "You scared me." Then I gave her a huge hug.

"Okay, that's enough," she said after a few seconds. "I'm still mad, you know. He's the first guy I ever fell for."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I feel so guilty," I said hurriedly. "But it's just... You know... He's the only one besides you who really _knows_ me, you know?"

"I know," she said grudgingly. "Just... Don't be really, you know, overly _lovey_ around me, please. I still haven't met anyone as... addictive."

"I swear!" I cried.

"Just one question," she said, a mischeivous smile on her face. "Have you shagged him yet?"

I glared at her, but smiled. "Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies," I told her in a sing-song voice. She grinned at me. I could tell she was still hurt, but that she cared too much about being a good sister to make any more of a big deal out of it.

We spent the rest of the night eating popcorn and talking about Blaise. His faults - including jealousy, a tendency to look at other girls, and his mother - his advantages - his body, his honesty, and, well many other things - and his body. And more about his body.

Astoria's final comment before we went to bed: "He's a very stupid man, to have dated me and now you. First of all, we'll be able to discuss him in detail. Second of all, if he ever pisses either of us off, he'll have both to deal with. And thirdly, if he breaks it off, he won't have any more chances with this family, or any of our friends!" Then she laughed. "But he's a smart man as well. Got both of the sexiest girls in the UK."

"I agree," I said sleepily, and that was the last thing I remembered.


End file.
